


Generosity

by Handsomerogers (Theconsultingdetective)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Barebacking, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, Light Impact Play, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other, Overstimulation, trans reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theconsultingdetective/pseuds/Handsomerogers
Summary: There isn’t a lot of company to be found, way out here on the prairie where you live. Homesteading, out in the middle of nowhere, wasn’t easy business, and there were all manner of threats--raiders, animals, poor weather.So when you saw two big shapes ride up on horseback, one morning when the sun had just come up, you were ready for any kind of trouble.





	Generosity

**Author's Note:**

> Mix of amab and afab language to refer to the reader's body, but Bucky and Steve both use he/him pronouns and traditionally masculine pet names (baby boy, little prince, etc) to refer to him. 
> 
> If you liked this, stay tuned to this account for more fic (I'll be posting my kink bingos soon!) or find me on tumblr @handsomerogers!

There isn’t a lot of company to be found, way out here on the prairie where you live. Homesteading, out in the middle of nowhere, wasn’t easy business, and there were all manner of threats--raiders, animals, poor weather. 

So when you saw two big shapes ride up on horseback, one morning when the sun had just come up, you were ready for any kind of trouble. You took your loaded shotgun down from over the door, cocked it, and tucked yourself over at one window, close to the ground so you wouldn’t be much of a target. One of the men, still too far off to be more than a hulking black shape, raised an open, empty hand, a sign of peace, presumably, but you didn’t trust so easy. You let them get closer, until you could make out clothes--one in bits and pieces of a blue ranger’s uniform, on a white Andalusian, the other dressed for ranching, on a beautiful black Paint. 

The one in blue stopped short shooting distance from your house, and the Paint-rider followed suit. 

“Anyone in there?” the blue one shouted.

You shot once past them, instead of answering. 

“I’ll take that as a strong yes,” he said. “My partner and I were just lookin’ for someplace to rest, someplace with a roof, ideally, since he--” he nods at the man on the Paint, “--reckons the whole sky’s about to open up with rain.”

“This place ain’t a hotel,” you called back. “And I don’t got any interest in bein’ shot in the house I built.”

“We ain’t got an interest in shootin’ you,” the man on the Paint says. “I’m Mr. Barnes, I’m a rancher, and this here’s Captain Rogers, he’s a ranger.”

“Used to be a ranger,” the Captain interjected. “Point is, ma’am, we don’t want trouble. We just wanna be dry ‘n safe someplace, keep our horses from ploddin’ through mud.”

You stared out at them, gun still at the ready, prepared to fire at any moment. They seemed guileless--but then, they always do--and when you looked up at the sky, you saw pretty clear that they’re right, and that the rain is on the way. 

“Hitch your horses ‘n sleep on the porch,” you said, finally. “You give me any trouble, you’ll get it back, times two.”

“Seems only fair,” Captain Rogers agreed. They rode closer, and hitched their horses to your chicken fence, under a little wooden roof so they’d stay dry in the coming storm. 

Captain Rogers and the rancher stayed around all day that day, while the rain poured. You talked to them through your window--at least, they talked to you at first, and you eventually decided to talk back. You learned that Captain Rogers--well, Steve--had been in the Union army, and then he’d become a ranger, hoping to make life easier for folks homesteading like you. When he’d found the way he was expected to treat the indigenous populations, the cruelty and indecency he was expected to practice, he wasted no time in personally tendering a strongly-worded resignation letter to his supervisor. Barnes, for his part, was Steve’s dearest friend, since they were but kids. They fought for the Union together, but when Barnes lost an arm to a bayonet wound and the infection that came with it, and they discharged him, he headed out west to keep cattle until Steve joined him. They were too restless, they said, to make camp at any one place--there was something steady in all that change--so they became nomads. 

They stayed that night on your porch, and the next morning, the rain continued, and kept the three of you hemmed in together. You finally let them inside that day, as the rain turned to heavy, waist-high snow, and let them keep their horses in your barn so they’d stay warm. The two of them were lovers, that much was clear from the beginning--they were touching each other all the time, and they had that sort of smile between each other, that private kind. But that didn’t stop Barnes from turning his bright-eyed charm on you, too, with his shaggy hair and his quick smile. Steve followed suit in his own way, with a slow and abiding affection that manifested itself in a sincere compliment or the unassuming touch of a hand. Maybe it was the loneliness of the plains, or the novelty of a love affair with a stranger, or maybe it was something about the two of them, something else, but after Barnes’ heated, constant flirting, and Steve’s patient and gentle kindness, you yielded, and they took you to bed.

You imagined that they might drift, when the snow cleared, but they didn’t. They stayed around, and shared your bed, and your life, for a week, two weeks, a month, six months--till they were fixtures. Things didn’t feel so lonely after that. 

\---

Bucky was always the last one to wake up. Steve was first, making coffee and letting the horses out of the barn to meander in the fence you three’d built together, around your little square of property. You were second, and you’d spend the morning together, talking and watching the sun come up, and sometimes kissing on the porch chair where he’d first slept. Then Bucky would join you, wandering out of the house with a coffee and a smile and a kiss for each of you. 

You’d spend most of your days tending to this and tending to that, the three of you, making repairs on the house or riding to the nearest town to get supplies and sell chicken meat and feathers and eggs. Another fellow moved in not too far from you all, a Union lieutenant and his partner, Sam and Riley. You’d often talk together, the five of you, on days you visited each other and shared meals and tales. But the best days, in your opinion, were the slow ones. The slow ones like today. 

It’s early, but you can already feel Steve shift around behind you. Even though he’s the first out of bed, he’s always the pampered middle spoon, Bucky against his back and you pressed into his front. He has to climb over your bodies to get up, which Bucky never takes too kindly to. When he moves, this morning, you clutch his hands into your chest, and keep him from running off. 

“Gotta let the horses out,” he says softly, kissing the back of your neck once, chaste. 

“Horses’ll hold,” you reply, pressing your hips, clad in cozy flannel, back against him. Barnes tends to sleep naked, but Steve prefers a pair of pants, just like you, in case you’ve got to get up quick for one reason or another. 

(Obviously, Barnes is the kind of guy that no one complains about when he sleeps naked. No hard feelings--at least, not in the intended sense.)

Steve laughs, fondly, and gives you another kiss. “So that’s what kinda morning you’re after, huh?” He wraps an arm around you--glides a hand, fingers splayed wide so he can touch as much of you as possible at a time, down to the top of your muscle-thick thigh between your soft flannel pants and your warm skin.

“That’s what’s in it for you if you stick around in bed,” you tell him, and he laughs again, and moves his hand up to tilt your face back towards him. 

“You know just how to play me, don’t you?” he grins. “Not like I’m complaining.”

“You’d better not be.” You shift, a little arduously, to face him. “I can take my offer off the table quick as I put it down.”

“I think I’d have to call your bluff, then,” Steve says easily. “I know how you are in the mornings.”

“And how’s that?” 

He laughs, and kisses you. “Smartassed, for one.”

“He’s like that all hours,” Barnes says, from Steve’s other side. You didn’t even know he was awake. “So are you, Rogers. Impossible to live with, the both of you.”

“Then maybe we should pack it up,” Steve says. “Take our early morning rituals elsewhere.”

“...Does that include the coffee?” 

Steve twists at the waist to smack a kiss to Bucky’s lips, even though you both know for a fact that encountering Barnes’ morning breath is a fate worse than death. 

“Especially the coffee,” he agrees, as you drape yourself all over his chest. He’s so broad, and warm--sturdy, like a fortress, your fortress--where Bucky is thicker, in his thighs and on his stomach, the kind of muscle that helped him calve his cattle or build extensions onto your barn. The two of them are much bigger than you are, each a head taller than you, even if you can lift more feed bags than each of them. 

“The little prince here woke up frisky,” Steve warns his partner, and you grin. He’s right. 

Bucky grins back--he’s always been a little more feral than Steve, sharper-toothed when he bites you and rougher when he fucks you--so when you’re in the mood, he’s all over you in a heartbeat. 

“Well, if you ain’t gonna do something about it, I will,” he says, leaning on his side next to Steve, making himself a little taller than you are where you lie on Steve’s broad chest. 

“Who says I’m not?” Steve laughs, moving his hand over to knead your ass in one broad palm.

“Who says ya’ll can’t share?” you ask, and both of them hone in on you in a second, Steve giving your ass an encouraging squeeze. 

It isn’t the first time you’ve all three been together--you do it relatively often, when you’ve got the time, one of them in your mouth and the other in your pussy, or your ass. One time, you took both of them at once, and your pussy was sore after for days--completely useless, unable to take the chickens and eggs into market, which annoyed you to no end. You hadn’t done that since, but maybe…

“Who indeed, honey?” Bucky grins, pushing in on you and sliding your hand into your pants. He kisses you, hard and heavy, and Steve watches the both of you, sliding his hand up your back to rub between your shoulders. 

Bucky doesn’t waste a second getting after you. He bites at your lips, flushing them red and slicking them with his spit. His tongue slips into your mouth, and starts to move in and out, vulgar enough to flip your stomach. His fingers, thick and calloused, slide past your dick to your pussy, not pushing in, just rubbing--he wants to make you work for it. He always does. 

You hadn’t noticed how messy and wet you were until Bucky touches you there, drags his fingers through your slick, and there’s something about that that felt demeaning, embarrassing, in the sweetest way in the world. It’s because he knows, now, how much you want it, and he’s hardly had to lift a finger. Once he has you arching into him, your body still turned towards him still couched on Steve’s chest, he pulls his hand out of your pants and draws back, saliva stretching between your lips and his spiderweb-thin.

This was how it went with the three of you--Steve supporting you, Bucky pushing you, you in the middle, reaping the rewards, or the punishments, as it sometimes turned out. You needed them both, the firm hand and the gentle one, the carrot and the stick, and you knew they needed you, someone to care for, to worry over, to treat well or otherwise (but always with plenty of attention and soft touches after--they both insisted, every time.)

When Bucky draws his hands out of your pants, his fingers shine in the early dawn light. He separates them, and the way the clear slick stretches between his fingers mirrors the gossamer thread of your spit between your mouths. 

“More than a little frisky,” Bucky laughs, looking at his glossy fingers. “Musta had some sweet dreams.” 

You don’t remember--maybe you did have a good dream, but the two of them always get you hot pretty quick, anyway. 

“No kidding,” Steve agrees. “Do I get a turn?” 

You lean your head back, looking up at him. “Could get in there at the same time, if y’ wanted,” you say. “Think I’m in what you’d call “a mood.”” 

Steve laughs. “I certainly would call it that,” he smiles, weaving his fingers into your hair and pulling you in close for a chaste kiss. When he lets you pull back, Bucky’s fingers replace his mouth, and you taste yourself, your own bitter tang flowering across your tongue. He fucks them in and out a few times, as deep as they’ll go, until they tickle the back of your throat, and your eyes flutter closed. 

You’re so busy thinking about the fingers in your mouth that Steve’s fingers surprise you, spreading the wet soak between your legs up to your dick. He hums, and you can hear the smile in his voice--no matter how rough he gets with you, he’s almost always got this beatific look on his face, like a saint in an old painting. 

Bucky, however, is the opposite. He fucks his fingers deep into your throat, gets you drooling down his palm and onto Steve’s chest, where your head is pillowed. “For as long as you suck on these, baby, Stevie’ll keep rubbing your dick, yeah?”

You nod, and get to work--Steve even lets you grind on him, a rare joy when Bucky takes charge like he has now.

“Unless you’d rather suck something else,” Bucky offers after a minute, noticing as much as you do the filthy way you swirl your tongue around his fingers. It’s automatic, and you weren’t really looking to give a blowjob this morning, but hell. For him, you’ll do it. 

You nod again, opening your eyes, and Bucky pulls his fingers out, slides them past Steve’s down to your pussy, and shoves them in and out, twice, surprising you so much that you gasp and buck. He grins and kisses you, swiping your tongues together, then Steve, spreading the salty champagne taste of yourself between the three of you. 

You can tell Steve notices when he hums, approvingly, like he does when he eats the biscuits and gravy you make on special occasions. He always groans like that when he tastes you, the sap, swears you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever had (which tends to get Buck a little steamed.) It heats you up inside, especially when Bucky urges you towards Steve with a wet-fingered hand on the back of your neck and watches you kiss while he climbs up onto his knees.

You can hear, on your left, the soft sound of Bucky fisting his cock, the little hiss he makes when he first feels his own hand around his dick. Your face is turned away from him, eyes closed while you kiss, but you’ve been with him enough times that his face appears behind your closed eyes while Steve sucks on your lower lip.

Steve opens his eyes, and pushes you as Bucky pulls you, until you’re on your back between them with Bucky’s pink, thick dick hovering inches above your lips. 

“Open up, baby boy,” he says, rubbing his tip across your lips, smearing them with glossy pre-come. “You want it?” 

You nod, and curse under your breath, Steve’s fingers getting back to work against your own dick. You’re so eager that it throbs in time with your heartbeat—Steve notices, and laughs at you, low and a little filthy. 

“Say you want it,” he goads, stepping in for Bucky. “Tell us what you want. You’re so goddamn pretty.” It’s adorable, the way he can’t keep up the schtick of demeaning and shaming you for long. 

You’re lucky Bucky’s there for that. 

“I want it,” you say, grinding your hips against Steve’s strong, warm fingers, rough from working. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, expectant. 

“I wanna suck your dick,” you elaborate, playing innocent. 

“You wanna suck my dick, who, baby boy?”

You know what he wants, and when he’s like this, you know you’re in for it, too. 

“Daddy,” you say, and despite the game you’re playing, you can’t help but moan into it, especially when Steve starts to kiss your neck with no lack of teeth. “Wanna suck your dick, Daddy.”

Bucky grins, and strokes his dick a few more times, pushing into your mouth past your sloppy lips. He’s just long enough to choke on and so thick he makes your mouth ache in minutes, cut unlike Steve and just the right size to make you sore.

He doesn’t waste any time fucking your throat, his hand in your hair to keep you in place. You gag on him at first, something which never fails to get him going even harder, shoving his hips forward so hard he flattens your nose. 

Beside you, Steve’s caught up in the moment, too, fingers frantic against your dick. Your hips push up, grinding hard against him without any trace of rhythm. Steve kisses the shell of your ear, watching how quickly your chest rises and falls, knowing how close you are from just a glance and a touch.

“Gonna come for us, baby?” he asks, his voice low in your ear, almost predatory. “So fast, huh? You’re easy, ain’t ya?”

You whine around Bucky’s dick, sliding in and out of your throat, listening to him grunt and growl like an animal. 

“Yeah,” Steve coos, taking your jaw in one hand, feeling in your throat where Bucky’s head slides in and out. “Jesus, feel that? Feel how deep he’s fucking your throat?” He looks up at Bucky. “He treating you good, Buck? Taking care of your dick?”

Bucky gives an affirmative grunt. “Wouldn’t expect anything else from a whore,” he agrees, and you moan. The way he calls you names, the way Steve rubs your dick and talks so filthy in your ear, have you close, fast. “Think you could come without Stevie touching your dick? Just from having Daddy’s cock in your throat?”

“Bet he could,” Steve agrees before you can answer. “And maybe if he can’t, we don’t let him come for us at all, huh?” Bucky pulls your hair, and you turn your eyes to Steve, squirming and writhing like you’ve got fire in you. “You don’t have to come, do you? That ain’t why we keep you around, is it?” 

You know what they want to hear—you shake your head, and Bucky says, “Fuck,” under his breath as you turn your eyes back to him. Coming untouched is going to be a challenge, but you’re so fucking close that a strong breeze could probably finish you off. 

Steve takes his hand out of your pants, fingers covered in slick, and, after sharing a look with Bucky, wedges his fingers into your mouth beside his cock. “There you go,” Steve murmurs. “What a good slut you are, taking his dick so nice.” 

You whine, and squirm, hips bucking uselessly against the seam in your pants. Steve’s hand on your jaw slips down to your chest, and he tweaks one of your nipples, so sensitive that you almost scream. 

“You’ve been so good,” he says, “I almost think you deserve my mouth on you right here—“ He pinches your nipple, the same one he’s been focusing on, and lands a smack across the other one. 

You yelp, and your eyes open wide, and then, against all odds, you’re coming. You can tell Bucky’s almost as surprised as you are, the way he groans while he watches you. You shudder through your orgasm, your lips still stretched around Bucky and Steve’s fingers. You’re quiet, except for the odd whimper, as Bucky fucks your mouth once, twice more, stalls, and comes down your throat, buried so deep you hardly even feel it. 

He pulls out, and lets you breathe—you need to—while Steve and he share a few relieved kisses.

“God, baby boy,” Bucky murmurs as he comes down. “Jesus Christ. How’d you do that shit, huh? You’re usually so needy…” 

“Think I like it rougher than you give me credit for, Daddy,” you say, kissing him. 

Bucky leans back, and sighs, smile softer now. “You taste like us,” he says. You can still taste yourself from Steve’s fingers, and the taste of Bucky’s come still lingers at the back of your throat. 

“C’mere,” Steve coaxes, but it’s not really a request—he grabs you, and hauls you over, and kisses you deep. You fling a leg up around him automatically, and that’s when you feel how fucking hard he is. 

Without asking, you grab him through his pants, and he yelps and laughs, rocking forward automatically towards your touch. 

“You wanna help him?” Bucky offers, appearing behind you, pressed against your back. 

You nod. Bucky usually does this, situates himself as the one who offers you to Steve to use up. Steve takes him up on it, because who wouldn’t?

“Ask if you can help him, baby. Ask if he wants to use you.”

You look up at Steve, slipping a hand into his pants. “Can I help you with this?”

“Sir…” Bucky prompts, kissing the back of your neck. “He’s a Captain, remember?”

“He’s right,” Steve agrees, picking up your chin with one hand. “Ask me right and maybe I’ll let you.” 

You look him in the eye. “You wanna use me, sir?” 

Steve smiles at you. “Yeah, honey,” he nods. “Spent so long today with my fingers in your pussy...maybe I should get my dick in there, too.”

You nod. Bucky’s dick is great, but Steve’s is a thing of beauty. It’s so long that you feel it in your chest when he fucks you, like it could go all the way through you, and fuck, he’s good with it. 

“Tell him you want it, baby,” Bucky encourages you, grabbing your chest and squeezing. “Tell him you want his dick in you.”

You groan, and nod. You’re already dripping again as you say, “I want your dick in me,” adding, “please,” then, “sir.” Steve nods, and takes off his pants, then yours. 

“Get on with it, baby boy,” Bucky coaxes, and you smile.

This is where you shine—the boys both say you ride a dick better than you ride a horse, and you’ve been doing the latter for going on your whole life, so you’ll take the compliment. 

Steve puts his hands behind his head and stretches out long like a happy cat as you swing one leg over his hips. You wrap a hand around him, hot and throbbing under your fingers, and he groans happily as Bucky presses into his side to kiss him. You can feel his pulse, bunny-quick, as you drag his head through your slick and grind your hole against him. 

“Playin’ a long game, honey?” he coos, momentarily pulling away from Bucky for just long enough for both of them to look up at you. You make a dismissive noise, swiping your thumb through the wetness gathered around his slit, some from you and some from him.

“Just takin’ my time,” you say. “You waited this long. Reckon you could stand to wait a little longer.”

Steve laughs. “Sounds an awful lot like you’re tryin’ to make the rules here,” he teases, without the heft that Bucky has when he’s talked to you like that before. You’ve topped Steve a little before, with Bucky’s help—lots of Bucky’s help—and you know he’s pretty much a softy under what can be a stubborn-as-hell, wet-alley-cat exterior, although damn if it ain’t fun when he pretends otherwise.

“Maybe so,” you grin, looking him in the eyes as you sink down on him. With no-one around for miles, there’s no reason to keep yourself quiet, so you groan and curse whenever the spirit takes you, and Steve does the same. He puts his big, warm hands on your hips and watches you get situated, sees the last few inches of himself be swallowed up by your body. 

Bucky takes a break from where he’s kissing a chain of hickeys into Steve’s throat and looks up at you, tossing his head to throw his hair over his shoulder. 

“Very good, baby,” he smiles approvingly, as if he’s watching you make pancakes instead of ogling you as you ride his best friend’s dick. “You look so perfect.”

You run your hands up Steve’s torso and rest them on his chest to leverage yourself so you can really get after it, starting to rise and fall on him at a steady pace. He fills you up perfectly, and you know he’s enjoying it just as much as you are, the heat of your body, the grip of you around him, holding him. 

“If I weren’t such a generous man,” Bucky says, laying his head on Steve’s chest like a honeymooning lover, “I’d reckon I’d get jealous.” He reaches up and spreads you out so he can see the way your body meets Steve’s. 

It’s no secret that you like playing with fire—you invited two strangers to sleep on your porch, after all—so you prod him a little. “Perhaps I ain’t yours to get jealous of,” you say, “huh?”

Steve laughs out loud, glancing over at Bucky to catch the feigned neutrality on his face. 

“Seemed like mine when I was fucking your throat a couple minutes ago,” he says, shrugging. “Didn’t he, Stevie?” 

You hold back a little simpering noise, hoping you can prod the two of them into really ruining you good for a few days, trying to focus enough to keep bouncing on Steve’s cock. 

“That he did,” Steve agrees diplomatically. He knows pretty well that whatever Bucky decides is gonna happen next, is gonna keep you on his dick, because there’s nothing in the world Bucky Barnes loves more than spoiling Stevie by way of spoiling you (and if he can spoil himself while he’s at it, then so much the better). 

Bucky sits up, then, and kisses you without preamble, hard and demanding. Beneath you, Steve can watch the way your tongues slip together, the way he bites your lips. He reaches his hand down to your chest, to the same side that Steve smacked earlier, and squeezes and pinches to get it singing sharply again. 

Bucky pulls back, and looks at you, sunk down all the way on Steve’s dick and grinding your hips against him so dirty and good. He looks up at you, his clear blue eyes making him look all the more like some sort of sweet innocent when you know that’s generally untrue, a look of gobsmacked admiration on his face that’s pretty hard for him to hide, even when you’re playing games like you are now. 

Bucky, of course, has no such problems. He slides his hand up your neck from your chest, pausing to wrap it almost teasingly around your throat, to your jaw. He cups it, gentle for a second when he looks into your eyes, and then, when you don’t see any real fear or malice in each other, harder, tipping your head back. 

“If you’re gonna mouth off,” he says, “I’m gonna have to find a way to keep you from forgetting whose you are, understand?” 

You just groan, both at the treatment he’s giving you and at the feeling of Steve’s head rubbing at the bundle of nerves inside of you.

“Say “Yes, Daddy,”” Bucky prods, tightening his grip, “or I’ll have to slap some sense into you.”

You almost smile at how clever your men are. He’s asking without asking, giving you an out that’s simple and quick and doesn’t mean that you have to break concentration, although you know they’d both be fine with you having to pull the breaks. 

You want to push it, want to really be in for it, so you meet his eyes and hold them. Underneath you, Steve, the lamb that he is, curses. 

Bucky releases your jaw, quick, but you’re not free for long. He smacks you, not hard, just with his fingers, on the lower part of your cheek, and the sting makes you curse. 

“Should I give our boy another chance, Stevie?” Bucky asks, looking down at him as he grabs your jaw again. 

“What the hell,” Steve agrees, playing good cop. “He always shapes up after a while, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Slut sounds more like it,” Bucky says off-hand, and you shiver. “Say “Yes, Daddy,” so I know you understand me, slut.”

Your fingers curl against Steve’s chest, and you nod. “Yes, Daddy.” 

“Good boy,” Bucky nods, softening a little. “Dunno what came over you, taking my dick so good just a few minutes ago and mouthing off like a whore all of a sudden.” 

You whine this time, and Steve grips harder on your hips—you think he might be getting closer, but he holds out good for you until you get off, first. He’s a gentleman like that. 

“Maybe it’s ‘cause Stevie spoils you, is that it?” Bucky asks. “Rubs your dick, fucks you gentle, lets you feel like you’re in charge...are you in charge, baby boy?” 

“No, Daddy.”

“Good,” Bucky says. “You need some help remembering that?” 

You whimper, louder this time, and tense up around Steve so nice that he makes a noise not so different from yours. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky nods, once. “Feel like you can take me and Stevie at once, sweetheart?”

The tone of his voice and the new pet name tell you that he’s not asking you as your daddy, the one that knocks you around. He’s asking as your boyfriend, the one who can’t boil water to save his life but can tar a leaky roof as soon as the first drop of rainwater falls through it. 

You nod, looking straight at him. 

“I want to,” you say. “Stevie? How about it?”

Steve laughs. “I’m happy as hell down here,” he beams, running his fingers over the fine hair on your thigh. “Whatever you two want.”

Bucky nods again, then says, without missing a fucking beat, “Think you can take both our dicks at once, baby boy?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you say, voice dangerously close to begging. 

“Lean forward, then,” he instructs. You do. He watches the way you work around Steve’s dick, how slick it is, how wet, how tight you hold him. “Fuck, look at you. Already stuffed full so good and you wanna take my cock, too? You that much of a slut?” He drags his fingers up and down your back. “Didn’t ask for my health, baby. Wanna hear you say it, too.”

You nod, almost frantic, eyes closed and face turned up. “Yes, Daddy, I’m a slut.”

“Whose slut?” Bucky asks. “Look at Stevie in the eyes when you say it. Want him to know you mean it.” 

You open your eyes, and look down at Steve, who looks as swept up in all this as you are. “I mean it,” you say. “I’m your slut. Yours and Bucky’s, Steve. Fuck.” 

You glance over your shoulder to Bucky. “I’m getting close.” 

Bucky hums, nonchalant. “You can wait,” he says, swatting you on your ass. “Can’t come ‘till Steve does. You want him to fill that pussy up, right?”

You nod. 

“Good,” he agrees, kissing your ear. He reaches over to where Steve slides in and out of you, slipping two fingers in alongside him with no warning at all. The stretch is incredible, achey but good, and you grind back on them both without a second thought. 

Steve groans, and Bucky wolf-whistles. 

“Eager fuckin’ slut,” he says, shifting forward. His chest presses against your back, warm and solid, and you lean into him. His body’s broad, and he holds up your weight easily as he rubs his head against your already-full pussy. “Ready for it?”

You groan in agreement, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and kissing him long and slow. 

Steve curses jealously under his breath, fucking hard up into you just as Bucky presses his head in and slips his fingers out. 

God, you’re so full, and the stretch is so perfect. Bucky wraps his arms around you, and he and Steve, so perfectly in sync, start moving inside you. 

You whimper and whine while they work you over, Bucky’s teeth in your shoulder, your body over-sensitive still from the first time you got off, not five minutes ago. You don’t even realise you’re crying until the tears are falling; Steve sits up enough to swipe one away and says, “Okay?” in a quiet voice, gentle and earnest. 

You nod, and he nods, too, and doesn’t miss a beat with the relentless buck of his hips. You don’t even have to move—between the two of them, and the way all of you know each other better than you know yourselves, you’re well taken care of. 

Steve comes first, which seems only fair, since he’s been waiting the longest. He comes so much, too, so deep, and some of it leaks out around their dicks. It’s a wonder there aren’t rugrats running around your place yet—you don’t want them particularly, and the boys could take or leave them, although Steve loves to whisper in your ear about filling you up when it’s just the two of you. He’s always spectacular when he comes, arching back and groaning loud, his mouth making a sweet and perfect slackjawed “o” that has you and Bucky both struck dumb every time you see it. 

Once he finishes, you follow, spurred on by the show, swiping your own tears from your cheeks with a wrist before setting your hands over Bucky’s where he holds your hips still and pounds into you. 

He doesn’t babble much when he’s close, which is a wonder, ‘cause he runs his mouth enough for all three of you the rest of the time. He comes, too, deep inside of you, and he and Steve both hurry to pull out so you can come down. 

“Jesus,” Bucky sighs, as you slump back down into Steve’s chest, hips still lifted high as their come leaks down your thighs. “Could do with another day’s worth of sleep after that show, baby.”

“Amen,” Steve agrees, starting to move to stand. “But somebody’s gotta let the horses out.”

You lean further down on him, with no intention of letting him go. “Don’t look at me, I’m gonna be out of commission today and tomorrow—“

“As you should be,” Bucky interrupts, and Steve grunts in agreement, adding, “At least.”

“—but I think the real troublemaker should go do it.” You nudge Bucky with your foot, and even that leaves you sore and fidgety. “Go on, Barnes. Your turn.”

“And put the coffee on while you’re up,” Steve laughs.

Bucky grumbles, but heads off anyway, bareass naked in the light spring weather. 

“Love you,” you call after him, and Steve repeats you. Bucky, true to form, flips you off through the window, but can’t hide his grin.

Sure, there isn’t usually much company on the prairie. But here, in your bed, on a lazy morning with the two men that have your heart and your soul and your body in the palm of their very capable hands—you’ve got all you need.


End file.
